


Even Lady Luck has Favorites

by polarcenit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Games, Good Slytherins, M/M, Multi, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarcenit/pseuds/polarcenit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry was six, he gave up on making decisions.</p><p>When Harry was seven, he found out about Luck and Dice Games</p><p>When Harry was eight, he chose to make decisions with his dice</p><p>When Harry was nine, his dice decisions led him to find out about the Wizarding World.</p><p>Watch Harry as he goes through the world making every decision through sheer luck</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A.N.: So yeah… not sure where this came from. I’m honestly probably going to continue this since I find myself amused at the possibilities of Harry deciding important things using the dice… but my focus is currently on my other fic. Hopefully, though, at least some of you like this. And, it goes without saying; I definitely do not own Harry Potter. Nor am I getting any money from this.

Even Lady Luck has Favorites

Luck was not a word that would often be applied to the small and underfed boy living at Number 4 Privet Drive. Said boy, a Harry James Potter, could be in many aspects be likened to a Greek Tragedy hero, both on the known and unknown. Just like an onion, his life had layers. And also just like an onion, it brought tears to whoever sought to peel those layers. 

The first layer was centered on the appearance, the superficial, and, in this case, the rumors spread by the boy’s aunt and uncle. Due to this layer, as far as the neighborhood was concerned, the boy was an orphan with troublesome tendencies, born to an alcoholic couple that died in a car crash. 

The second layer focused on the circumstances of his home life. His relatives, despite being seen as respectable members of society, mistreated him and abused him; his nickname was set to Freak, he was given an amount of daily chores to do, he was accommodated in a small cramped cupboard as a room, he was punished for everything and anything that went wrong, and he was regularly bullied by his cousin and friends.

The third layer, deeper, was that of the boy’s true personality. Despite being known as a violent, no good, lazy, and mean kid, Harry was actually smart, driven, quick, and quiet. The problem was that the young boy was also a child desperate for the love and the approval of his aunt and uncle, a fact that made him hold back in many areas of life, giving credibility to the rumors of the first layer. 

The last layer, the unknown, was created by his true past, one kept from the boy himself. This past involved wizards, high society, heroes, sacrifices, manipulators, and prophecies. He would soon come to know of it once he found his special trait. Despite this past, Harry James Potter was actually incredibly lucky. 

The problem was, he didn’t know about it. Or rather, as he thought of himself as unlucky, he wasn’t able to notice all the times it manifested itself. It had, however, saved him from certain death. So Harry Potter was certainly lucky. 

And never would this be more apparent from the moment that he discovered his talent with dices through various moments in his life before Hogwarts.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“Hey, Freak! Stop running, coward!” shouted the voice of one Dudley Dursley, resident bully of the Privet Drive neighborhood and cousin of the supposed troublemaker, Harry Potter. “You’ll bloody pay for this! I’ll tell dad that you cheated!”~

A small form hid inside a bin, holding his breath and hoping his cousin wouldn’t hear him. It shouldn’t be too hard; he had the habit of it after all. Harry may just have turned six, but he was quite adept at running from his cousin by this point, especially considering Dudley’s favorite sport had become “Harry Hunting.” A sport that consisted of Harry running away from Dudley and his gang until they eventually caught him, and then enduring the hits that came his way.

“Where are you?! You know dad and mom won’t let this pass. You’re just the little Freak, there is no way you could’ve gotten better grades than me! Now COME OUT!” 

It wasn’t that hard, though, thought Harry, to get better grades than Dudley. Many adjectives could be used to describe his cousin, but smart was definitely not one. 

“Come on, Big D. The runt’s not worth it.” Pier Polkiss, the second meanest boy in their grade and Dudley’s lackey, said in a sharp and whiny voice. “Just leave him; your dad will get him good. Besides, I hear Fornsel’s got some chocolate bars that he hid from us. We should go get them.”

“Fine,” Harry heard after a bit of grumbling, “Let’s go.”

Harry did fear the retribution he’d get for doing better in school, but he had made a decision; he would do well in school no matter what. Maybe if he did well, his relatives would finally like him. It wasn’t likely, but it was a possibility. If not, there should be at least someone who would notice him. It was his decision! No one would take it away from him. 

Or at least, that’s what Harry thought. Unfortunately for the boy, however, he would soon realize that his decisions did not, in fact, matter. Or, at least, they didn’t matter to anyone around him. His Uncle and Aunt were harsher than ever and his school teachers didn’t believe that he hadn’t cheated and branded him a troublemaker. Harry would try several more times to do well, either in school or some activity related to it, but he soon had to accept the fact that no one cared, and no one would care. No one ever tried to believe him, and no one, apparently, had the brain required to think on their own.

And so, at six years of age, Harry James Potter formed the belief that his decisions did not matter.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The boy was seven when the second event happened.~

When dice, or more particularly, the Luck of the Dice, entered his life.

It was Dudley’s birthday, and so Vernon and Petunia Dursley had left their nephew in the hands of their neighbor, Mrs. Figg. While this normally would not have affected Harry at all, except for maybe increasing his dislike of cats considering how many she had and how nasty they were, that day was a special occasion.

Several of the neighbors had organized various mini-tournaments, claiming to want to raise money for charity. One of those involved dice games, and thus Harry became Mrs. Figg’s training partner. Mrs. Figg had decided so, and Harry followed. And everything changed. 

It seemed that, for the first time in Harry’s life, he won. Every game, every time; he just kept winning. There was something he was good at that the Dursley’s couldn’t take from him. Harry could do this. 

Harry’s experience with dice thus started. He experimented with every game that contained dice, no matter which, from monopoly to gambling games. And every time, he still won through sheer luck. 

Harry now had a new focus in life; dice. Through it, he started to have friends, playing often with them. He also started getting items or money from his wins, and slowly his body started growing normally. He was still small and underfed, but it was improving. 

Harry was conflicted; what he was doing was essentially gambling. Gambling was, he’d been taught, bad. It was for troublemaker, and all who did it ended badly. But then, wasn’t he already seen as a troublemaker?

Harry decided to never walk around again without his dice.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The next turning point in Harry’s life came in the form of a question a year later.

“Why do you never make decisions?” came from one of Harry’s many game partners. “It’s just, in games you’re always the first to decide through your dice, but outside of that, you’re kinda meek and not sure of anything. It’s kind of startling, to be honest, so I was wondering; why?”

“That’s… I just don’t want to make decisions. It’s personal.” Harry responded. 

“I see… too bad you don’t just use your dice everywhere, then!” the other laughed, without noticing Harry’s wide eyes.

From there on, Harry’s brain never let him forget it, nagging him constantly every time he used the dice. He finally focused on what the guy had said a month or two later, pausing to actually consider the statement. 

In games, he had always made the decisions with his dice. This was because he trusted his dice, much more than he trusted others and himself, and the fact that they would always lead him towards good results. But, Harry started wondering, what would happen if he started making decisions outside of games with his dice as well? 

For the first time in a while, Harry truly and widely smiled. If it worked, if it truly did, life would finally go up for him.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The first few times Harry had the opportunity to test this, they had worked even better than he thought. He had, somehow, even gotten Vernon Dursley to give him Dudley’s second bedroom. Truthfully, his dice had led him to witness a scene that his dear Uncle would not like to be known. Who knew his Uncle had a fetish for animals? Vernon was quick to accommodate.

And so, when he noticed a strangely dressed person a few meters away, Harry was quick to take out his dice. Harry may not have known much about fashion, but he was pretty certain that pointy hats, neon pink pants, and bright orange jackets did not, in fact, go well together. He looked interesting enough for a talk, Harry’s instincts shouted. Should he really approach the man and talk with him? So he shook his dice to decide.

Setting some rules for this particular game, Harry whispered, “Evens, I talk to him and odds, I don’t,” then rolled the dice, waiting for Luck’s answer.   
A twelve, he thought. Not only an even number, but also double sixes… It seemed like he really should go up to the man and talk. 

So Harry went. Tapping the shoulder of the man, he waited until the man turned around, and then spoke.

“I’m sorry sir, but do you need help?” Harry was, after all, raised to be polite, despite everything.

“Ah, yes, yes, thank you! I’m actually looking for a… Kamics and vodeo games store?” The man said, trying to remember the name he had been given.

“Do you mean comics and video games?” Really, Harry thought, how could someone be so confused about those words? They were commonplace, after all. The young loved them, and the older criticized them, but everyone knew about them. 

“Yes, that’s it! My niece, she grew curious after hearing about them from some classmates, and now wants some things from there. I can’t seem to find the place, even with the point me… anyway, where are my manners! My name is Gerald. Gerald Crawford.”

“I can guide you there if you want, sir. I’m Harry, Harry Potter,” said the boy as they started walking.

“OH MERLIN! Harry Potter? Truly? Do you have The Scar?!” The man cried out, suddenly stopping, eyes immediately fixed on the boy’s forehead.

“It is there…” he whispered in an awed tone, “it’s an honor to meet you, truly!” he then cried out in a mixture of excitement and happiness, starting to walk again, gaze still fixed on the lightning bolt shaped scar that had marked Harry’s forehead for as long as he could remember.

Startled, Harry was not sure how to feel. On one hand, the man’s reaction to his name made him wary. Granted, it was better than the usual reaction, for instead of a sneer a grin settled on the man’s face, but it puzzled Harry. Why was his name a good thing? Secondly, the man had known about the scar before even seeing it, a scar that Harry usually kept hidden. This implied that the man had been watching him, but his surprised reaction said differently. What was going on? 

“Err… why, sir?” He muttered, finally going out of shock.

“What do you mean why? Of course, it is for saving us from You-Know-Who! For having defeated the worst Dark Lord of all time! We wizards and witches owe you a great deal, you know?” cheerfully said the man… the wizard?

Harry was at first very tempted to label the man as crazy, but he then remembered his dice. They had been the ones to lead him to the man, so there must be a reason. And it is true that unusual things tended to happen to him, he mused. So instead, Harry continued walking with them man, subtly seeking answers while attempting to look knowledgeable about his past.

This way, Harry James Potter learned about the wizard that had attempted to kill him after killing his family, about his status as the hero, about the power he held as the last member of a noble house, and how to get to the magical street in London, Diagon Alley.

More importantly, however, Harry James Potter discovered the existence of Magic, of the separate Wizarding World, and of the possibilities in his future, at nine years of age.  
His dice had, indeed, made a huge difference. Now it was just a matter of using them in regards to this new world... and to figure out how to escape his current living situation.  
He would decide when to explore this later. And using his dice, of course.


	2. Even Lady Luck Organizes Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds stuff out.  
> Libraries, alcoholic and suspicious librarians, paintings, ghosts, and teenagers.

Even Lady Luck Organizes Coincidences

A.N. Right, so I was going to wait before continuing this, but my mind can’t seem to shut up. My focus is still on the other story, however. Hopefully you still like it. Harry Potter doesn’t belong to me (and frankly, I’m glad it doesn’t because I would’ve never come up with the story), and I’m not gaining money from this. Please comment (possibly point out a few mistakes), but mostly, please enjoy.

A week later, young Harry Potter was extremely frustrated.

A whole new world had been introduced to him, one he highly desired to explore, so he had been ecstatic, before.

The problem was, he realized once the happiness subsided, he had no way of getting in contact with said world.

Sure, the man had mentioned an entrance in London, but Harry had no way of getting there, or even of knowing exactly where the entrance was.

He could still try, but Uncle Vernon would rather die than do anything for him, and if he tried to go off on his own, well, he would probably be back at the house faster than he could say the word policeman.

Then there was also the matter of his dice; he’d asked if it would be alright to attempt to do so anyway, but the answer given was clearly a no.

So what to do?

He found it unlikely that the entrance in London would be the only one, but then again, after hearing the wizard talk about brooms, and something that appeared to be teleportation (the actual name Harry heard was hard to remember), the boy figured it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination.

 Besides, looking for another entrance in the entirety of Little Whinging, never mind the entirety of Surrey, would probably not be the smartest move. It would be much faster for him to wait for his letter to Hogwarts, the supposed magic school.

So that wasn’t an option.

He could try doing magic on his own (and he had, in fact, done that), but learning proper procedures and incantation was a must if Harry hoped to do anything besides some levitation and other minor acts.

Besides, he had recently grown obsessed with the idea of his past. Who, exactly, was he? Who was You-Know-Who? His relatives had eagerly told him about his parent’s death before, but Harry was now surer than ever that it wasn’t the truth. Additionally, there was his fame. He needed to know what others perceived him at. Too many people would probably try to take advantage of his supposed fame.

It was a fame that he still didn’t know much about, except for the fact that it involved his parent’s death and the wizard called You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, respectively.

So he still needed a way to gather information. He wanted to **know** **everything**.

What to do? What to do?

He wanted to get in contact with the magic world, but had no way to do so. He wanted to know more about the magic world and his own past, but he, again, had no way to do so.

Hence, Harry was frustrated.

That is, until Harry suddenly fixed the books with his bright green eyes.

He’d been hiding in the library from Dudley’s gang (since it was a place that Dudley’s Neanderthal ways could not stand), and now he was suddenly glad about it and upset at himself for not thinking about it before.

“Of course,” he whispered, “libraries!”

Even wizards must have needs for them, especially the poorer families, Harry reasoned, and it wouldn’t be too hard to install a magical sector to at least one library by city. It made sense.

Or at least, he wanted it to make sense. It was a pretty reasonable thought, after all.

Unfortunately, Harry had doubts on the magic world’s common sense—the wizard’s fashion sense and stories hadn’t helped—but then again, he’d only met one man, so it was too soon to judge.

Now he just needed to research the libraries in the city.

Before that, however, he had two decisions to make; whether to actually try to find such a Library, and, most importantly, to choose which library.

So he rolled his dice.

He kept the same rules as when he’d met the wizard. Odd for no, even for yes. The results, once shown, were what he’d hoped for.

Two threes, a total of six.

Harry had by now started to interpret what his Luck attempted to tell through the dices, and this he very much thought of as a message: he should definitely go, but the odd factor of the number three indicated that the choice of library was indeed important.

After a bit of research, a strong smell of alcohol, and a mysteriously absent librarian, the nine years old sighed.

He’d managed to find information about five possible libraries.

Three of them he could easily access without much trouble, but two others that were impossible to visit unless he managed to trick his family into it.

One of them was, obviously, his school’s library, but he was pretty sure there were no magic books around, or he’d have found them. He had spent enough time in it to explore every nook and cranny. There could be some hidden by magic, he supposed, but it made sense of such books to be visible by those with magic, and wards against “muggles” probably would not have worked on him.

At least, he hoped so.

So that left only four possibilities.

“Well, it’s your turn again,” whispered Harry, kissing his fist and throwing the dice that laid in it.

He had decided that for every library he’d throw the dice once.

However, he had also decided to change the rules for this particular game.

Harry had read once, in a random book he’d picked up while hiding, about mystical numbers.

To be honest, the tome in question had only managed to hurt his head, and he was pretty sure they were mostly rubbish, but the numbers aspect of it had fascinated him.

Especially when three of the number fit with his dice: Three, seven, and ten.

It was unusual for him to suddenly change a rule, especially when they’d given so much, but he couldn’t help it. Something in his very being was pulling towards it, the same feeling he had whenever he used his dice.

Therefore, despite it narrowing his odds, Harry decided to trust his instincts and his dice once more. It was a special case, just for this. Those numbers would indicate what library would yield the results he sought.

And so, Harry rolled once again.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKIMWORKINGONIT

Two days and five hours later, at 3:05 pm, Harry Potter found himself in front of a rather miserable looking building.

“This can’t be it… Can it?” muttered Harry, under his breath.

Certainly, the building was listed as a library, and it had been the one that his dice had agreed on, but his eyes really didn’t want to believe it.

He’d had a hint of it before, on the state of the building that is, while asking for directions. The strange looks from people, comments of confusion over it being a library, the odd behavior of the population (who seemed to either constantly forget about its existence, or just pretend to), and so on had definitely been indicators, but he hadn’t believed.

Till seeing it, that is.

The place in front of him was, by all appearances, very ill maintained.

 A horrible smell permeated the area, strongly reminding Harry of the smell Dudley left behind whenever he visited the loo. The barely visible paint looked faded, with various cracks in the stone wall adding to the ruined look. The wall plants had certainly taken a liking to the house, drowning the house in an almost full sea of green, although one area was oddly uncovered, leaving Harry to suppose that that was the entrance.

And so, neatly side stepping a dead rat, Harry gathered his courage. It had taken so much planning to get this far, he wasn’t about to chicken out now.

Going through the entrance, Harry almost immediately reeled back from shock.

Contrary to what one might think, it wasn’t because of the strange and inexplicably cold feeling that transpierced him once he passed by the half melted iron door that had appeared once he’d been close enough.

It wasn’t even the fact that the interior opposed almost everything the exterior of the house had hinted at, giving way to what was probably one of the cleanest and grandest libraries he’d ever seen.

 Neither was it due to the sleeping librarian at the counter, the very same librarian his school had (though he would definitely be revisiting this later on).

No, the thing that had actually put him in such a state of mind was the presence of ghosts (and the moving paintings, but mainly the ghosts). White, transparent, and very much real, ghosts.

Even after being told about magic, the thought of ghosts hadn’t even crossed Harry’s mind.

It was kind of funny, he thought, even while still in his shocked state, considering that he’d believed in mystical numbers, but not mystical beings.

Once the shock waned, however, the nine years old child barely contained a cackle of glee. He had made it! He bloody had  made it! He had found his source of information!

Making sure to move silently, not wishing to wake the suspicious librarian before gaining the precious knowledge he wanted, Harry moved through the aisles, glancing at the book titles while simultaneously attempting to ignore the curious stares from the rather transparent population.  He couldn’t be bothered at the moment, he had plans.

Before anything else, however, he needed to know about himself.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKIMWORKINGONIT

Anger often came in many forms.

It sometimes came burning hot; ready to burst out in one swoop.

It sometimes came like cold ice, freezing all those around, shutting out all emotion.

It sometimes came suddenly, like a sudden storm after a beautiful day.

It sometimes started slowly, building up in strength as more and more infractions are made.

However, no matter what kind of anger, it tends to be immediately recognizable once shown, as the ghosts haunting the library were reminded of, hours later.

There was, after all, no denying that Harry Potter was angry.

And, while seeing the nine years old angry would have been deemed cute by all non-magicals, those in the library were highly aware of the damage that a volatile and angered magical child could, as evidenced by the spontaneous combustions of various items in the area. Needless to say, most of the ghosts had fled by the time that Harry had started to regain his composure.

Had anyone been brave enough to ask him why he had seemed so furious, he’d have roughly and emotionally said that he was angry about **everything**.

Because Harry, at that moment, was angry at the world.

He was angry over Sirius Black’s betrayal.

He was angry over Voldemort’s existence.

He was angry over his parent’s death.

He was angry over his placement at the Dursleys.

He was angry over his life being presented as a story for children.

He was angry over the fact that that story had riddled with falsehoods and fake adventures.

He was angry over his heritage having been hidden from him.

He was angry over the amount of people who used, controlled, and plastered his name, and thus himself, everywhere.

In fact, Harry was having a hard time trying to find something to not be angry about.

Every book he had read, every newspaper, and even every magazine, either contradicted the information of another, or had given him another piece of information to research and be upset over.

 And every time, what had started as a low growl would heavily increase in volume.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, for Harry, due to this growl he had aroused someone from sleep.

It was with great discontent that the newly awakened painting shouted out to Harry, shocking him out of his current book, “Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century.”

Said painting was that of an old wizard, dressed in what he assumed to be middle-aged clothing. The man had quite certainly been rich judging by his size and the heavy layers of clothing adorned by gold. Currently, the face displayed discontent, grey hair greasy and a mess from the previous nap and, possibly, from the fumes his cauldron gave out in the background.

The wizard of the painting was quite annoyed. He had, after hearing the quite child-like growl, assumed that Harry was a spoiled child simply whining about some unimportant things (at least less important than the own painting’s sleep), and hence found the kid’s befuddled stare quite amusing.

“You… You can speak?” asked Harry, slowly. He had seen the paintings move before, but he’d assumed that they were just an enchantment of some kind, seeing how they didn’t seem to do much.

“Of course I can speak! For Merlin’s sake, what kind of painting would I be if I couldn’t?” Snarled back the painting, still bitter about his interrupted sleep.

“I, uh, don’t know…?” weakly answered the boy, still in a confused state of mind.

“Hmph. Figures. Another ignorant one,” said the painting, having had many previous clashes with kids, his painting in the library not being the only one. “Who are you anyway?  I haven’t seen you before at all. Trust me, I’d know. There’s not much to do here but watch the living. And sleep, but you interrupted that”

“I’m, um, sorry sir. I’m Harry,” he said, keeping his last name out of it, keeping in mind the reaction of the last wizard he’d encountered.

“Linfred of Stinchcombe. Pleasure, I’m sure.”

Well, Harry thought, he might not be the most pleasant of individuals, but he could probably provide some immediate answers.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but… who’s that at the counter?” Harry asked.

“Him? He’s Mundungus Fletcher. Don’t know what he’s doing here, though. He clearly doesn’t have an affinity with libraries. I’d personally say he has more of an affinity for shiny metals, liquids of the alcohol kind, and thin white-bearded old men,” he finished, smirking as if sharing a private joke.

“Right…,” commented Harry, having confirmed that the man was suspicious despite not understanding some of what the painting had said.

Mundungus Fletcher was definitely to be watched. Especially considering that Harry had known of the man as Cornelius Fudge, his school’s librarian.

There was something going on there, something that Harry’s instincts did not like.

Of course, it could be a coincidence, but he had never really believed in coincidences, especially those that smelled rotten, like this one.

Luck, yes. His dice were proof, after all. Coincidences, however, he found that they were usually manipulated carefully by someone else. Piers Polkiss’ planning, Dudley’s bullying, the box of cigarettes they had hidden in his desk, and the “coincidental” search by the teacher had taught him that much.

Maybe it was a paradox, to believe in Luck and not coincidences, but in his mind, they were very much separated.

So who really was Mundungus Fletcher or Cornelius Fudge, and why was he posing as a librarian despite hating it?

He’d previously just thought of the man as an incurable alcoholic, but now it seemed like there was so much more to it all.

Glancing at the painting in front of him, he sighed seeing Linfred back asleep. Apparently, the man could go to sleep ridiculously fast.

After standing up, Harry briefly debated borrowing some books, but his desire to avoid the librarian’s attention won out when his dice clearly indicated to leave it alone with an odd number. Once he had put all books in their proper place, Harry left the library.

While he didn’t particularly want to leave, he had to properly process everything, investigate the librarian, and cook dinner for Uncle Vernon.

 “Thankfully,” the Dursleys had mysteriously gotten tickets for a cruise- tickets that Harry had won with Luck, of course, leaving Vernon Dursley as the only entity that could hinder him in his quest for magic. Vernon was already annoyed at the fact that the house was at his nephew’s mercy during the day, so Harry had to make sure to keep him happy.

His dice had said to return at nine when he’d asked, so he would do so despite fearing Vernon being back at his house already.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKIMWORKINGONIT

As it turned out, the dice had chosen the perfect hour.

Uncle Vernon had arrived from work around eleven due staying unusually late in an attempt to impress the president of a possible partner company.

The same reason he had, regrettably, turned down the cruise for.

And while Vernon would usually have taken it out on his poor nephew, he had been far too happy about the warm home cooked meal to do so, having only eaten vending machine snacks during the day.

Which left Harry bruises free and full, a rarity that allowed him to leave the house without worries.

Today, he had a new person to visit, and a new mission.

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKIMWORKINGONIT

Turning the corner, Harry found the place he’d been seeking.

While Harry was, indeed, an intelligent child, he was still just a child.

That meant that he didn’t really know how to look for information about someone.

Even if he had known, he would’ve also simply lacked the necessary network for it. He had acquaintance, yes, but mainly for games.

It didn’t help, too, that Harry wasn’t really known for talking.

Harry knew, however, who would know how to get information. His logic and his dice had told him the answer.

Admittedly, he had, at first, wanted to go back to the place he’d named The Library (Harry would never claim to be original, and he supposed it was probably a wizard trait, so he’s figured it was probably alright). Mundungus Fletcher or Cornelius Fudge, whoever he may be, was an unsolved mystery, however, and one that might be connected with Harry.

Thus, the detective in Harry wanted to play, and the survival skills he had developed at the Dursleys wanted the knowledge to understand whatever connection and be able to protect their self.

So, he’d left up the decision to the dice once more.

They had been pretty quick to decide for him once he’d set the rules (odd for the library, even for the information search), leaving a ten, double fives, resulting from the roll.

Which lead him to the most important question, how to find the answers he sought?

The best possibility came to him pretty quickly, but it had taken Harry eliminating all other possible options for him to accept it.

There was a group of delinquents at  Harry’s school that had somehow managed to gain control.

What made them important, in this case, was that they had gained rule of the school through blackmail. Through information.

Of course, this was just a rumor, but it was one that Harry very easily believed.

So, if anyone knew about “Cornelius Fudge,” it would be them.

To be honest, Harry’s survival instincts truly wanted nothing to do with them, especially coupled with Harry’s fear of teens.

 He had avoided them, because of this, like the plague, even though they couldn’t possibly have cared about an inconsequential child.

It didn’t matter, for in young Harry’s mind, they were dangerous.

Adults were dangerous because they could control his life, but they cared too much about looking good, and thus usually controlled their most horrible and vile impulses. Such was the case of the Dursleys, for instance.

Teenagers, however, had protections and a rather unfortunate spike in emotions that adults did not. They got away with a lot more. They had almost the same control on his life as adults, being older, and they were also able to give in to their more violent impulses without much repercussion.

An adult would hide disdain and put on a fake smile. An adolescent would openly jeer, influence the crowd around into doing the same, and would hit and hurt him as many times as they wanted.

More importantly, however, adults did not see what they did not want to see. And they didn’t want to see the cruelty of children, even the more grown up ones.

The adults of the school were content in believing that they ruled the school. There could be no bullying, since this was a respectable school, they wanted to think. So they did.

 “You remember how it was, all fun and games. Being rough is part of it too!” had even said one of Harry’s teacher while talking with another teacher. “It’s character building!”

That’s why Harry saw the older kids as dangerous. As people who had control. As people who could hurt him, and not feel a thing from it.

He already received pain from peers his own age; he didn’t need for it to escalate, or for his bullying to switch into more dangerous hands.

But his dice had made the ultimate decision for him. And when his dice spoke, he understood, it always led to the best situation. He had to believe that.

They had eliminated all other resources he’d thought about, leaving only this path open. So it had to be the correct one. Despite whatever his survival skills believed.

And so Harry found himself in front of most the leader’s house, a girl named Belinda. He’d heard quite a bit about her, including the fact that she apparently would hurt anyone who’d call her by her last name. But as someone used to there being false rumors, he wasn’t quite sure about any of them.

So he stood in front of the house, attempting to think on how to approach this.

 Turned out, he didn’t have to. Two seconds later a dark haired girl left the house and crashed into what she thought looked like a very malnourished little boy.

Harry may not have believed in coincidences, but Lady Luck certainly did. Or, at least, when she was the one to arrange them.

This was one such “coincidence,” and their meeting would prove to alter the paths of many. It would give Harry everything he wanted, and it would give Belinda the opportunity for revenge.

That is, once Harry woke up.

Crashing into Belinda had had the rather unfortunate effect of Harry hitting his head against the pavement and passing out.

He would wake up several hours later in a hospital, only to be met with Belinda Malfoy’s face, eyes filled with grief and apprehension.

 


	3. Luck Says, Knowledge is Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus Dumbledore is stressed, Harry finds out more information.

A.N. I'm sorry for my lateness. I've been extremely busy and every time I restarted this chapter I felt like deleting it the next time I read it. Hopefully this version will seem ok ahaha. I'm in the middle of writting essays and applying to law schools and graduation and a bunch of other stuff, so thats my excuse for the absence. As always, not getting money from this, tho my broke self really wishes I did... Please comment and like/kudo/whatever to let me know if you like it or hate it. 

 

Albus Dumbledore was a tired man.

 

He was a brilliant man, oh yes, but a tired one. The sheer amount of problems in his life made even him sigh in frustration.

 

He had a future Minister of Magic who refused to use his brain, instead usually coming to Albus, expecting him to do the job instead. Despite the great pains Albus had gone through to not be in power, knowing himself. 

 

He had a school full of kids with the potential to run the world in a few generations to attempt to guide, and portraits who told him every detail of what happened in the building, whether he wanted to hear it or not.

 

He had all of the documentation for said school to fill out, approve or deny, course proposals to present, and teacher meetings to run.

 

He had to deal with an extremely political minded school board whose interest rested more in their images rather than the actual good of the school--Merlin knows he’d have changed the history professor by now if he could.

 

He had an empty Defense Against the Dark Arts post that no one wanted, and a huge amount of pressure on him to solve the curse placed on the post, a result of various previous professors disappearing or dying after a year.

 

Finally, he had the safety of whom the wizarding world considered their next Savior to track and keep alive, despite the very limited information he got on his life. The people involved were themselves, limited in numbers and abilities.

 

Harry Potter, despite his youth, was the second coming of Merlin as far as this world was concerned. A one-year-old baby who survived the deadliest curse known to wizards and simultaneously kills the threatening Dark Lord of the time? The feat seemed almost like it was plucked out of a fairytale book.

 

No matter how much Dumbledore might have tried to hide it, news like that would’ve blown up anyway, and Harry would still have become a celebrity. However, it would’ve been a celebrity that carried a heavy burden from the very beginning, and a person unfit to match it.

 

Albus himself knew that, for he had experienced it. He had defeated after hard work and heavy emotional turmoil his old friend Grindelwald and had had no time to adjust before being swept up in world fame. 

 

Yes, he had saved them all by defeating a Dark Lord. 

 

Yes, he had people’s attention and the power to change the world (and how dangerously addictive that was).

 

And yes, in their eyes, he could do no wrong.

 

But the responsibility that came with all that was heavy.

He had defeated a Dark Lord, so why had he not been able to defeat another? That question constantly echoed around him. 

 

He had been a savior once, so people wanted him to do it again, despite all the sacrifices required the first time around; never mind the entire group of people who never saw him as a savior, and who still tried even today to kill him for having killed their savior.

 

He had power, but power corrupts and so he had stayed away. 

But people always came to him and, conversely, when things went badly (although admittedly, thanks to his brilliance, it wasn’t too often), it was him they blamed.

 

He could do no wrong, they said, but that was carried by heavy disappointment when his actions were not what people expect out of him. 

 

People didn’t see his limitations, they didn’t see his humanity, they didn’t see the blocks on the road. Instead, they saw a powerful man, a god, who could’ve done something, done better, but who instead either did nothing or not enough despite his status, his position. 

 

Albus Dumbledore was painfully aware of his status in the world as a savior due to this. 

 

And this was not something that he wanted a one-year-old boy, one who would never know his parents as a result, to grow into, to feel before he could even walk. The fame and power would have spoiled him, and the expectations would’ve blindsided and crushed him once Lord Voldemort or another Dark Lord decided to appear again. 

 

And so, Dumbledore did what he thought was best, and hid away baby Harry Potter in the Muggle World, where wizards seldom went--especially the enemies left over from the war. Where he would have a connection to family, despite some slightly perceived hostility. Where Harry Potter would just be a normal boy with no enormous political responsibilities on his shoulders. 

 

But now, Harry Potter was missing, according to his first watcher, Mrs. Figgs.

 

The woman was in charge of watching the community where the boy lived, so she was well placed to know the comings and goings of the boy, enough so that Albus knew there hadn’t been a mistake. 

 

Worryingly, Mundungus Fletcher, the one he had watching the school where the boy resided the rest of the time, hadn’t found him either.

 

While some may argue that as Albus Dumbledore he had a lot of pull, his protection of the boy was limited simply because of all he couldn’t do, and he never felt it more than in situations like these.

 

Having the kid be raised in a wizarding family, no matter how trustworthy, was definitely not what Albus Dumbledore had in mind. The security might have been better, but the boy’s visibility and awareness of his own burden would have had exactly the unwanted consequences Albus wanted to avoid.

 

The other possibility, putting trackers, wasn’t even considered. On kids under eleven, it could be harmful to the development of their magic cores. In fact, any direct magic to a person whose magic was still developing risked to make major changes in the way they used magic and how it developed, and so any kind of direct magic was discarded.

 

Harry still hadn’t used actual controlled magic in an environment where Albus could observe him, so it was impossible to see the effects of the killing curse yet, but it was more than likely that something had already changed, especially since the magic was one of the most powerful dark curses from one of the most powerful wizards in history.

 

Albus Dumbledore was just thankful it hadn’t turned him into a squib as far as he could see. Despite his own acceptance of them, it would’ve made things so much harder for the boy. Albus himself had felt a hint of that back when he'd considered coming out before realizing how much it would hinder any progress he attempted to create.

 

On the other hand, having people watch the residence and the school was also very limited because the number of people he trusted and who would be willing to spend days in the muggle world watching a little boy, no matter how famous, were themselves also very limited. Hence the two people who did. 

 

Thankfully, the boy seemed to spend most of his time at either place, though it had been frustrating that Fletcher’s reports were so small. The boy probably didn’t frequent the library as much as he should’ve, but that hadn’t been a problem either really.

 

Till now. Till both of his watchers reported him missing for longer than usual. Two whole days, in fact.

 

Where on earth had Harry Potter gone off to? 

 

Albus Dumbledore sighed again. 

 

This was going to be a long day.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Belinda Malfoy, Harry decided, was full of surprises.

 

Oh, she was most decidedly crazy, in a dark sort of way. Violent, definitely. Moody, too. 

 

There was an edge to her, however, that was almost sort of soft. That protected with softness rather than cut with vigor like the rest of her seemed to do.

 

He’d first seen a glimpse of it at the hospital, through his first blurry blinks, as he realized she was crying for him. It had been shocking, considering his earlier fear of her, almost funny in a way.

 

Like a strange colored spot in an otherwise black and white picture.

 

His first direct conversation with her, though, revealed so much more of that softness than he’d realized, as she gave him answers to all of his questions. And that, in the grand scheme of things, was much more shocking to him than what he learned.

 

She had been truthful.

 

She had been straightforward. 

 

She hadn’t dismissed him.

 

And, most of all, she hadn’t underestimated him.

 

It probably told much about his life that that’s what he was preoccupied about, rather than his discoveries, especially considering how important they were, but to him finding someone older than him like this was so rare that he didn’t care.

 

At first at least.

 

“So you’re saying, you’re a squib, someone without magic.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you’ve been hiding from the… Wizarding World ever since?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“But your family still loves you, although they refuse to admit your existence publicly?”

 

“Well… yes.”

 

“But you still have bouts of accidental magic?”

 

“Squibs like me often do have small amounts of magic, we’re just not able to control it, and any magic actually done is so small, it doesn’t usually matter. At least, according to them.”

 

“Them? And is accidental magic why I have such good luck?”

 

“Wizards and witches. And,” the girl hesitated, “well, I’m not sure about that. It could be some form of accidental magic that helps you, but I have never heard of it being so consistent.”

 

“So… why am I here then? And why are you here?”

 

“You, I wouldn’t know. No one really knows much about you, to be honest. You’re a mystery. In fact, it's probably partly the reason for your fame. Surviving the killing curse and defeating the Dark Lord was all impressive and unique, but your total lack of public appearances and the little information we have about you kind of stirred the cauldron.” 

 

Belinda Malfoy paused, clearly unsure, but at the boy’s inquisitive gaze, decided to add, “There are all kinds of ideas about where you are and what you’re doing, and no one's entirely sure what is the truth. So of course, that means everyone is interested. People have come up with tales, but except for the youngest, who creepily idealize you, most are aware they are just fantasies. The real thing is elusive, and to many, that means a random, unknown and possibly powerful chess piece of the chess board.”

 

Belinda drew a deep breath, before saying, “basically, you are an unknown political tool with huge amounts of power that everyone wants on their side because your image carries meaning in today’s society.”

 

Harry blinked. Well, at least he now knew a bit more about where he stood, despite his continued general ignorance about the world. He was, however, done being a tool. Knowledge, he decided, would be his shield and his weapon. 

 

Belinda, seeing that Harry wasn’t going to speak up, continued.

 

“As for me… my… family, in their great wisdom, decided the best place for me was muggle society since in their minds, those with no magic don’t belong in the wizarding world.”

 

“And you don’t? I mean, I don’t think it's right that family be split like that, but the idea of no magic people in the no magic world makes sense, I think.” 

 

“That’s only because you don’t know much about our world. On paper it makes sense, but magic is so much more than wands and spells. Yes, we aren’t able to do conventional magic, but we still have the knowledge, and there are plenty of jobs and activities that can be done by us even without being able to wave a wand.”

 

The Malfoy girl sighed, before starting again.

 

“As squibs, we still have a core, albeit a small one, and that means we can still do magical things like making potions, riding brooms, writing and activating runes, filing documents, and other. The real reason they try to put us in the muggle world is because we are seen as a stain on an otherwise seemingly perfect world and perfect philosophy. They don’t want us around to ruin their own self-made world and ideals, so they remove us. I am in fact one of the lucky ones. Some families go as far as killing those born as squibs.”

 

“That’s… not right.” Harry scrunched his eyebrows together, looking down in thought. “Why is nobody doing anything?”

 

“Because there isn’t a reason to do so. There’s no problems, and so no reasons to reform. The world has functioned like this for centuries, and having those like me disappear means there is no one to speak for us, really.”

 

“Is this why you are explaining everything to me?”

 

“I’m not going to lie, having you as a friend would be highly beneficial to us, so yes, I am talking to you partially because of what I could gain from a friendship with you. I’ve been raised as someone who is supposed to see everyone as political allies or enemies, and so I can’t help it. I’m sorry,” replied Belinda sincerely before continuing. 

 

“But, mostly, I see you as a confused person trying to understand a newly discovered position in the world. As a highly intelligent nine years old kid who feels like the whole world is against him, and who wants to know things in order to protect himself. And that resonates with me because I have been there.”

 

Harry stared into her eyes, looking for any signs of a lie, smiling once he became certain of the truths she told. 

 

“Thank you,” he whispered, bashfully looking at the floor, eyes in his pockets gripping his lucky dices. 

 

Belinda smiled, whispering back, “you’re welcome.”

 

“I have two more questions for you,” started again Harry.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Who is Cornelius Fudge, the librarian? My dices hinted you might know.”

 

“Your dices, huh. The way you use them amazes me, to be honest. They’re right though.The librarian isn’t called Cornelius Fudge. He is, honestly, a pathetic excuse for a human being with delusions of grandeur.”

 

“Delusions of what?”

 

“Sorry, I meant… okay, so, Cornelius Fudge is actually the name of a very important Ministry official who is very likely going to become the new Minister of Magic. The guy you know as the librarian simply took his name, likely wanting to feel more important than he actually is.”

 

“Okay…?”

 

“He’s actually a lowlife known in the streets as Mundungus Fletcher. I wouldn’t worry about him, especially as the job of librarian in a public school is likely just a cover for other activities. You should probably just stay clear.”

 

“Alright. Finally… in exchange for helping you in the Wizarding World, in the future, could you teach me about it? About everything. How to act, what is common sense, important people, aspects of magic you already know, and maybe access to the actual world. I want to know everything.”

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

As it turned out, Belinda Malfoy was rather limited in what she could teach, because much of what she knew was taught to her as a girl in the Wizarding Society. The Wizarding World was apparently very gendered in activities and education. 

 

She did teach him the basics of everything, especially as he refused to leave the house till she did, to her amusement.

 

It took two whole days to go over the beginner levels of what she could teach, but Harry was sure the Dursleys wouldn’t mind his being gone.

 

Quite the opposite, in fact, knowing them. If anything, they’d just miss their cleaning and cooking slave.

 

It didn’t matter anyway. Belinda was able to teach him the introductions to potions, runes, the identities of some important people, and she had a small stack of books on magic that she had let him read, clearly making him understand that his development in every area came down to practice and effort.

 

The basics were just that after all, the basics.

 

He’d have to practice them constantly, and come back regularly to learn the rest, especially considering he was not going to bring back books about the M word, magic, to the Dursley home, considering their hatred of the subject.

 

As far as common sense and how to act, however, Belinda wasn’t able to do much except give him one book on wizarding etiquette. As a girl, the etiquette taught to her had been entirely different, and it had been a while since she had used it anyway. Wizarding common sense too had been a struggle, simply because she had been removed from her position at age 11 and put in the muggle world. While she may have started life learning wizarding common sense, much of it was gone now or mixed with muggle ideas. 

 

“Here, read those. Come back next Friday, someone who knows all of this will be here,” she had told him, at the end of the days spent at her empty but stunningly big house. “He’ll be better placed than I at teaching you all of this stuff.”

 

Harry hadn’t told her then, but he’d discreetly checked with his dices as to whether that was a good idea or not. He only trusted Belinda because of her sincerity so far and because his dice had led to her.

 

He wasn’t sure about anyone else.

 

His dice, though, approved with double sixes, so apparently, this meeting with Marcus Flint was very important according to them.

 

He looked forward to it, especially as meeting anyone was better than being greeted by a shrieking Petunia Dursley, after all, as he was on his return home.


End file.
